Time to Heal
by BarracudaHeart
Summary: Loss is like pouring salt on a fresh wound. It hurts even more when you don't expect it. When struck with a horrific tragedy, America tries to cope as Russia is left struggling to heal as well. America/Fem!Russia


**This was sort of an on the spot fic I wrote following a prompt I was given on Tumblr. I used some genderbending in this for some very obvious reasons (those who know me will know of my hatred for certain 'kinks').**

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><p>America had stormed out of the meeting, face livid red. He left as soon as it had finished, not even asking if anyone wanted to go get a hamburger with him. For once in his life, he couldn't stand half the nations he shared this world with. They could be so thickheaded or unfeeling sometimes.<p>

When attendance had been taken at the beginning, only a few had noticed that Russia was missing. She was usually one to attend earlier. Germany asked if anyone knew if she was coming or not, and then took notice of Ukraine and Belarus' disappearance. America had nodded, and half-heatedly said that she was not in the right mindset to attend that day, and that her condition at the moment was not the best. England had rolled his eyes and had snarkily asked if the meetings were going to be like this for the next five months. America looked up at him, and shook his head, an undefined sadness in his eyes. The other nations stared at him, wondering if something had happened. When England had asked curiously what happened, America told them. And a few looked down with slight surprise, or did nothing. England just lowered his eyes sadly, and murmured, "Oh..."

"Anya and her brothers are staying at her home. To settle down a little. She's still kind of upset."

While a few sympathetic gazes were set on the American, a few people talked in "quiet" with their neighbors. Poland commented discreetly to Lithuania, "It's kind of a good thing, in my opinion. The last thing we need is another little Russia wandering around."

Prussia quietly sneered to France, "Russia wouldn't have been that good of a mother anyway."

America had heard these comments, and angrily shouted across the table to the Polish and Prussian men, "Go to hell! If I hear you ever talk about Anya like that again, I'll break your faces open!"

Feliks' lime green eyes were wide open in shock as some people stared at him and Prussia, and his face was turning red with embarrasment. Prussia sank down in his chair, not looking up. They both muttered, "Sorry..."

"D-don't forget...it was mine too." America whimpered, as he tried to calm himself down. Germany was staring disapprovingly at him and the other two nations. England stared at America sympathetically, but quiet as a pin.

America slumped back in his chair, energy sapped. God, they infuriated him. Didn't they understand Russia had feelings too? She wasn't even there, and they were already making insults? They didn't even care that she was hurting now, just finding an opportunity to get revenge. And the insults they made now were just as hurtful to Alfred, knowing that they were focused on a topic involving both him and Anya. It was like pouring salt on a fresh wound. It hurt even more when you didn't know it was there at first.

He felt guilty leaving Anya alone at her home that Monday, especially when she was broken down over the weekend with that fateful emergency visit to the doctor. But she insisted that he go to the meeting without her, and that her brothers would keep her company. But now, he realized that if he hadn't gone, he wouldn't have been able to defend her feelings from the spiteful comments when she wasn't there.

He didn't understand why this had to happen. They had both been so happy, and this had to ruin it. They had been looking to a bright future, and now it looked bleaker. They could always try again, but did Anya want to risk being crushed again over such a loss?

As America left, he cringed as he could hear the words of the others still lingering in his mind.

_The last thing we need is another little Russia wandering around...Russia wouldn't have been that good of a mother anyway..._

It wasn't fair. They didn't have right to think of her that way. They didn't know her the way he did. She was different from the Russia they knew. They didn't understand why he was with her, they never would. Anya was a good person. She deserved to be happy. Alfred knew how much of a wreck she was after the Soviet Union, and even if they were enemies then, he offered to help her back on her feet. She accepted it after a while, and soon accepted his friendship as well. That was when the true Anya came through, soft and gentle. Quiet and thoughtful. She truly was innocent at mind, and America knew the true Russia never wanted to hurt anyone. Annoy, yes, but not hurt. They often argued, even to the point where it was childish squabbling, but they knew that the hostility of the Cold War was gone, and that they could heal.

Alfred remembered to stop by the store to take some things to Anya's. He had promised to stay with her, until she felt better. He kind of wished that there wasn't so much back and forth traveling to each other's homes, but it was the best they could do. If nations could get married without any political problems, he'd pop the question, knowing she'd say yes in a heartbeat.

America was still rather peeved over Prussia's comment, "_Russia wouldn't have been that good of a mother anyway._" He didn't know her like that. He was being stupid. Alfred saw how excited she had been for this, how optimistic. She had been trying really hard to prepare herself for when it would come. And Alfred knew that she had some skill in caring for children. And for the things she couldn't do on her own, he'd be there for her. He'd raised fifty states practically on his own. She'd have been a fine mother with some help.

He knocked on the door of the large home, and waited sullenly. About ten seconds later, Ukraine opened the door, smiling a little as he recognized the American.

"Hi America, we're glad to see you here."

"Thanks Yakiv. How's Anya?"

The Ukrainian's brow furrowed, "It's very hard to say at this point. She's been in her room all day. We've gone in to check on her, and she's just sitting in her chair, or on her bed looking out the window. Very quiet."

"Ok. I'll stay with her, just so she doesn't get too lonely."

Yakiv smiled sleepily, "I think she'd like that very much."

Alfred walked inside, and up the stairs, ignoring that creepy Belarus' 'I'll-kill-you-if-you-hurt-her' stare. He knocked on Russia's door, and opened it.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing away from the door, watching the trees stand in the afternoon sun, cold winter air hazing through a little. Her snow-blonde hair lay draped over her shoulders, slightly messy. She was wearing a blue winter dress with slight fur trim on the edge. It was really very plain, but to America, there was a slight elegance to it.

He spoke quietly, "Hey Ruskie.", and she dipped her head towards the voice. Glancing back, she gave a curt nod, acknowledging his presence, and turned back to face the window. He walked over to the other side of the bed, and sat down on the edge next to her. It was a comfy featherbed, and he sort of sunk down into it. Anya didn't move to sink into Alfred's hold like she usually did when she was sad. She just stared blankly out the window again.

Alfred pulled a clear bottle reading "Smirnoff" out of a bag, and smiled a little, "I got you some vodka...for later, I mean."

The Russian peered one purple eye over to gaze on the bottle for a split second, before she commented dully, "I hate the strawberry flavored."

"I know." he smiled, "It's peach, your favorite."

She gazed at it again, and blinked. She hadn't any vodka for months. She knew it wouldn't be good for the child that no longer existed now. Some good that did. She smiled half heartedly, and took the bottle from his hands, muttering "Thank you..." before putting it on her nightstand. Her foot gently nudged at something halfway under the bed. Curious, Alfred peered over the edge, and saw the small doll cradle, gently rocking back and forth from her foot. He remembered how she had found it in her attic a month ago, smiling excitedly as she practiced cradling an old doll in it. She had been smiling at the prospect of living happily, of proving she could be a good person. He gazed sadly, as he realized that she was still pained over the emptiness and loss. He was too.

"How was the meeting?" she asked, still rocking the little cradle subconsciously.

"Could have been better." muttered Alfred, sniffing with a little frustration, "England says he hopes you'll be feeling better soon."

"Da, that's nice of him..." she nodded, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

"And Poland and Prussia had better be nice to you now. I made them, especially after what they said."

"What did they say?"

"Stuff that would make them look like the world's biggest douchebags if you were there."

"Like what?" she asked curiously.

America was praying she'd stop asking. He didn't want her any more hurt than she was right now. He just stroked her hair slightly, and said, "It doesn't matter. They're morons, so I told them to go to hell and shut their faces."

"Alright..." answered Russia, deciding she didn't want to know.

"So how are you today?"

Russia sighed, and let her hair cascade over her head in a pale waterfall, "Okay I guess."

"Did your brothers keep you company?"

"Da." she answered tiredly, pushing the cradle back under her bed with the back of her heel. She didn't want to use it anymore.

Alfred pushed his glasses up slightly onto the bridge of his nose, and scooted a little closer to his lover. Anya felt the mattress shift under her as he moved, and she sighed.

"What did I do wrong?" she whispered quietly. Alfred turned to face her, with a worried look. She subconciously raised her hand up onto her stomach, and skimmed it along the flatness of her belly. She had been so used to feeling the growing curve in it every morning. Knowing that she was carrying a life, a precious life. And now it was gone.

"I did everything I could...I tried to become a better person for this..." she murmured, fingers caressing over her empty womb, "I-I know its gone...but I feel like its still there..."

She wrapped her arms around herself, as she shivered. Alfred gazed sadly as her blank, despondent eyes gazed on the floor, "M-maybe it's a sign I'm an unfit mother...if I can't even carry a child before it's born."

The American wrapped his arms around her, putting his knees on the bed to lean over, "Anya...what happened isn't your fault. Things happen sometimes."

"I thought I could try and prove that I was able to do it Fredka...but now everyone knows..."

"And like I said, things happen. Sometimes there's something wrong with the baby before it's born, and...yeah...what happened is in no way, shape or form your fault. It's neither of our faults...It could have been influenced by our bosses maybe, I dunno. Maybe they didn't want some Russian-American land...or maybe the baby would've been human, and after some time we'd explain our jobs as nations to 'em."

Russia lay her head in the crook of America's neck, "I...I just wanted to prove I could do it...that I could have been a good mother..."

"I'm certain you would have been awesome. Especially since I was the dad. I've raised fifty of the little buggers, so I've got it down cold. I could have shown you how to do the things you didn't know how to do. And you have your two brothers. Didn't Yakiv take care of you and your bro when you were kids?"

"Da, and he did a wonderful job."

"So what makes you think you would have been a terrible mother with all the support you'd get?"

Anya sighed and as she got up, went over to her nightstand. She opened the little drawer on the side, and pulled out a picture of a smiling blonde-haired woman in a dress of royalty, holding a smiling dark-haired baby in her arms.

"Russia, is that a picture of you and Anna...Aniya..." stuttered America, trying to remember her name.

"Anastasia. Da, it is. I spent a lot of time taking care of her when she was little."

"Hey, what happened to her isn't linked to that, Anya. She wasn't your baby. And she wasn't a little girl when she died, either."

"No, but I was supposed to protect her...and look what happened...And with the Soviet Union...I tried to keep my family together, and I became a _monster_."

America hugged the other nation tighter, as she shook more.

"Anya, what happened then isn't the same. You were different. You weren't _you_. The Russia I know and love is different from the one in 1991, and much more experienced than the one in 1917. The one I fell in love with is one of the most responsible people I've met. Half the other nations need to get off of their high horses and give you a break. They don't know shit about you. And the Anya I know and love would have been an awesome mother if she got the chance."

Anya's purple eyes were teary, and she shuddered in his hold. Alfred sighed, and smiled sadly, "Yeah...I know...s'ok."

He stroked her hair lovingly as she struggled to cope with the loss, crying into his leather jacket. She was so surprised that Alfred was able to handle it better than she could. But she could see the sadness in his eyes as well. He had wanted this child too, and he wasn't completely accepting of the fact it was gone either.

Russia broke apart from the hug, and wiped her eyes as she tried to regain normal control of her breathing, which hitched irregularly from her crying. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked back up at America, and nodded slowly, "I-I think I'll be alright now. Th-thank you."

Alfred nodded, and kissed the top of her head, "And y'know we can always try again...when we're both ready."

Anya shook her head, and sighed, "I don't think I'm quite ready. Not now. I-I just can't really..."

Alfred shrugged, and stroking the back of her hair smiled tiredly, "I know...I'm not really either."

Anya blinked then gave a small turn of the corners, "But I would love to have children someday...just not now...I-I need more time..."

"Babe, we're countries. So unless the Martians hit the big button that says 'Earth-Shattering-Kaboom', then we've got all the time in the world. Maybe in a year or two we can try again."

"...Da. I think we both have enough to handle now..." Russia murmured, kissing the American. She leaned into him, smiling a little more. For once, she didn't feel depressed.

"Unless your psycho brother Nikolas comes up here screaming, "Have _my_ babies instead!", he shouted, mocking Belarus' voice. Anya burst into laughter, surprisingly. He sounded just like Belarus, and when it was America saying it, that phrase didn't seem as frightening.

She said inbetween giggles, "Y-you sound just like brother."

He smiled, as he hugged her again, "You'll be ok, Annie."

"_Anya_." she stated firmly, pouting. He _knew_ she hated when he called her that.

"Anya's a diminutive of Anna, and Anna can equal Annie."

"Alright Freddie." she stated smugly, the 'r' in 'Freddie' rolling off her tongue sharply. He pretended to look angry but then sighed with a chuckle, "Fine, Anya it is."

America kissed her forehead once more, cuddling her as she sighed in relaxation. He took a quick glance at the old record player in the corner of Anya's room. He pointed to it, "Does that thing still work?"

"I think so, I haven't used it for many years." she replied calmly, snuggled in his arm. Alfred let her go, and hopped off the bed, and looked through the large stack of records. Most of it was traditional Russian music and some old record of Mozart. But at the bottom was the good stuff. America grinned as he held up one of the old vinyls; Nat King Cole, Duke Ellington, and Louis Armstrong, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, and a newer suprise of Don McLean's American Pie.

"Where'd you get these?" he smiled wickedly, having no clue she had a collection as golden as this.

"I...um...I think I got them as a gift from someone...?" she replied blushing. She had actually bought them at a rummage sale during the Cold War, while staking out in America, feeling a little rebellious, and had stored them in the bottom stack, to be forgotten.

"Why so embarrassed Ruskie? These are fantastic!" He grinned as he gazed over them, "Have you listened to them?"

"Nyet, none of them..." she replied, cheeks red.

"You poor deprived lady!" he gasped with fake drama, as he pulled the Nat King Cole collection out of its slip, and placed it on the record table. He smiled as he lowered the needle onto it, "I'll have to introduce you to this kind of music. It involves dancing."

As the recorded jazz band began to play the melody, Alfred offered his hand out to Anya, who sat on the bed. She took it, and standing up, felt herself drawn into her love's close embrace. He repositioned her hands as the music continued, and with careful steps, they slowly swayed and danced to the beat. A soft low voice began to sing a song which had a sound new to Russia's ears, but classic to America's as it played out.

_You stepped out of a dream,_  
><em>You are too wonderful To be what you seem.<em>

Alfred smiled as he stepped to the right, offering Anya the chance to follow his steps, slow and savvy. She tried to follow the steps at first, a bit awkwardly. This was not like ballet dancing where she was leaping. This was slow and sweet steps, intimate and open.

_Could there be eyes like yours?_  
><em>Could there be lips like yours?<em>  
><em>Could there be smiles like yours, Honest and truly?<em>

Alfred's blue eyes stared directly into Anya's violets. He smiled warmly as he tilted her chin up the smallest bit (luckily they were about the same height), and gave her a small peck on the lips. She smiled a little more, looking like her normal self more as they danced.

_You stepped out of a cloud,_  
><em>I want to take you away, away from the crowd,<em>  
><em>And have you all to myself,<em>  
><em>Alone and apart.<em>

Anya snuggled closer as they danced, leaning her head on Alfred's shoulder. She loved this more than anything at the moment. She wanted this to last for as long as it could. Alfred grinned broadly when he saw the smile growing on her face, and he kissed her neck. "Love you, Annie.", he murmured with a smile. She didn't even mind it this time.

_Out of a dream _

_Safe into my heart._

And they continued to dance long after the sun had gone down, not caring when a song ended, and only broke apart when the record needed to be changed. And they stayed together in the slow entrancing steps of the dance America was leading. Until the song 'American Pie' brought the beat up, and thus the dancing rhythm changed, with joyful steps. Russia smiled widely as she moved her feet to the rhythm of the chorus; _Bye, bye Miss American Pie; drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry; them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in Rye; singin' this'll be the day that I die..._

When one of the final choruses of the song roared on, Yakiv and Nikolas walked up the stairs to see where the noise was coming from. They peered in to see Alfred and Anya dancing closely together, both smiling as the music went on, not noticing as the other two watched, smiling with relief their sister was happy.

A few hours later, as the song "Vincent" sang its opening of_ Starry starry night, paint your palette blue and grey..._ a second time, Anya and Alfred were cuddled together on her bed. Nothing had happened, except that they got too tired to dance anymore, and decided to snuggle in bed. As Anya buried her face into the American's warm bomber jacket, she realized, they'd be alright. They might not ever get over this completely, but they could move on for the children of their later future.

And they would be able to heal.

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><p><strong>So there's the end.<strong>

**I originally planned to make America the girl in this, but to be frank, I like Fem!Russia better in this pairing. I think she'd be a little more emotionally fragile when dealing with a miscarriage than Fem!America, who has over fifty kids. Not saying that America wouldn't, but Russia would be moreso to an extreme.**

**I added lyrics from the song "You Stepped Out of A Dream" by Nat King Cole, and "American Pie" and "Vincent" by Don McLean. I love these three songs, especially for dancing to. Well, "Vincent" not so much, but the meaning behind the song is amazing.**

**I might want to make a sequel out of this story, but I don't know. I want to see how many people like it.**

**[Insert a fake nonsensical threat demanding reviews, but having no intention to follow on said threat.]**


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